


How You Remind Me

by NemesisGray



Series: Dance Monkey [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NemesisGray/pseuds/NemesisGray
Summary: from the Nickelback Song
Relationships: Female Imperial Agent/Aric Jorgan
Series: Dance Monkey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676395
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	How You Remind Me

Aric frowned as the Chiss entered the Coruscant cantina.

What was a Chiss doing in this particular establishment?

It wasn’t as if there weren’t Chiss on Coruscant; the Ascendancy liked to pretend to play the diplomatic game but never commit. They were fully committed to the Empire.

The Chiss was lithe, moved with a grace Aric had never seen in Chiss before, lapis blue skin, magenta hair, which, he admitted, he’d never seen on a Chiss before either. Her face was smattered with freckles and her eyes seemed to glow in the low light of the cantina.

She frowned, eyes darting around the cantina before spotting whoever or whatever she was searching for. 

Her eyes rolled, the skin around her eyes tightening for a moment in anger before she headed towards the back-right corner.

Aric’s gaze flickered to her destination.

Ah. He knew what she was doing on Coruscant now.

SIS.

Aric didn’t recognize the agents, but he knew the type.

A female Twi’lek, three human males, and a droid.

Definitely SIS.

The Chiss sat stiffly, her actions feigned relaxation.

Aric’s frown deepened. She loathed the people she was sitting with. She loathed them with every fiber of her being, but the others didn’t seem to pick up on it. She seemed to loathe the blonde human and the oldest human male the most.

Aric wondered why.

Why was she working with and drinking with people she loathed?

#

Camhaoir downed a shot and hated her life.

Karking SIS.

Using the Empire’s brainwashing for their own personal gain.

She laughed hollowly and downed another shot.

She had twenty shot glasses of Wookie level whiskey in front of her. Not even the implants the Empire installed would be able to counteract her future inebriation.

“Go me.” she grunted, downing another shot.

Maybe if she got drunk enough, she’d fall off one of the many dumbass walkways that didn’t have farking railings and die.

Then she could stop pretending.

And her family would be safe.

Scoffing, she downed yet another shot.

There we go. Perfectly buzzed now. 

Another shot.

“You know you’re drinking Wookie whiskey?” a deep male voice spoke to her left.

Camhaoir snorted. “Yep.” Her voice sounded rough. Damn, but she loved whiskey. 

Another shot down.

“Can Chiss stand to drink that?” he asked with real curiosity.

Camhaoir sighed and rolled her head to look at the annoying person that dared to interrupt her pity party. 

Perfect. A Cathar.

She blinked and narrowed her eyes. He was what, two years older than her? Taller than her obviously; sinewy, lean. Not by much though. Shorter than Vector. She could take the Cathar on in a fight if she had to, if it came to that.

The Cathar was grey, with three claw marks over his left eye, chartreuse eyes in a white sclera.

“Nope.” she snorted, downing another shot.

He stood silently for a moment, just frowning at her.

Camhaoir shrugged and reached for another shot.

His warm hand wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from taking the drink.

“Don’t.” he commanded softly, kindly, concern in his gaze.

Camhaoir started cackling, a manic hysterical sound, the sound discordant and drawing the ire of several nearby patrons. “You gonna use my trigger-word too?”

His frown deepened, the concern increasing. “Trigger-word?”

It was adorable. Somebody was concerned and cared for her.

Hilarious.

She snorted, wheezing in ill humor, her free hand jabbing him in the chest. “You pubs like to act all high and mighty and better than the Empire but you aren’t. You get given the fancy trigger-word for brain conditioning and you use it because you can’t trust when somebody actually wants to defect.” She yanked her wrist out of his grasp, getting in his face, her voice dropping to a whisper, claws unsheathed and fisted in his shirt. “You like to think you’re better than the Empire but you’re not. Just the same racist bullshit as everywhere else.”

Sniffing, her hands dropped, and she downed four shots in quick succession. Drinking wasn’t fun anymore.

Maybe it never was.

But this nameless Cathar ruined whatever she’d been trying to do. She could no longer remember.

“Here.” She carelessly tossed a cred-stick on the bar top. “I’m done.”

She left without a backward glance at the cantina, its patrons, or the Cathar that successfully stopped her from killing herself with alcohol poisoning.

Stepping into the crisp Coruscant night air, her face turned up to the traffic happening miles above her head, Camhaoir sighed.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, scuffing her boots against the ground, she began plodding back to her assigned cell - no, room. She was a vital member of Kothe’s team. She snorted again, catching herself as she wobbled a bit.

Come the morning she’d have a Hutt of a headache and yet another mission to serve and protect. 

It was too bad she didn’t know who she was serving or protecting anymore.

A shame, really. A real damn, kriffing shame.


End file.
